


Selection of Letters from A. Hamilton to J. Laurens, 1782 – 1804

by icandrawamoth



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Character, Bisexual Male Character, Epistolary, F/M, Letters, M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logically, I should not be writing to you. It is obvious that you will never receive this communication, or any other, ever again. And, yet, I have always been and continue to be a man of words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selection of Letters from A. Hamilton to J. Laurens, 1782 – 1804

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verymilkytea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymilkytea/gifts).



> This isn't the Hamilton/Laurens sweetness you were looking for, but I managed to work in the bit about Hamilton hating everyone and I tried to put some lighter shippy stuff in the memories, so I hope you like it anyway.
> 
> Also, as it says, it's meant to be a selection of a wider collection of letters, so not everything is included, though I'm not really sure how well that worked in the end.
> 
> Lastly, this would've actually looked prettier, like actual letters, but HTML is not my strong suit. :/

My dearest Laurens,

You are gone.

Logically, I should not be writing to you. It is obvious that you will never receive this communication, or any other, ever again. And, yet, I have always been and continue to be a man of words. Through writing, I explain the world to myself and others.

Through writing, I will get through this. Somehow.

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My dearest Laurens,

I have scarcely left my office in weeks. There is so to be done preparing this new country of ours. I work with President Washington, I perfect my plans for the national bank, and I take care of my family.

When I have spare moments, I think of you.

I try not to have spare moments.

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My dearest Laurens,

Eliza worries for me, for the state of my emotions. It grieves me to know she does so, but there is little I can do. She pleads for me not to work myself to exhaustion, to look to the future, to remember what you would want me to do. When I listen to none of it, she insists I remember the good times.

That is not hard. There are so many.

I remember walking into that tavern shortly after I arrived in New York for the first time, meeting you and the others who would become such good friends. I remember your smile and how it drew me in immediately.

I remember how we danced around each other for so long, how we wasted so much time. I remember our first kiss, much later, after the heat of battle, both of us so frantically grateful to not have lost the other.

I remember Valley Forge, the air so cold it turned our rations to ice. I remember they way we huddled beneath our one thin blanket, desperately sharing body heat – I remember how that lead to more.

I won’t claim to remember every single instance of our coming together after that, but I speak truth when I say I remember how it felt, knowing each other so well, a completeness both physical and emotional. I still miss that feeling. Though Eliza is more than a comfort, and I love her as dearly as ever, I imagine I will miss you until my dying day.

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My dearest Laurens,

It has been some time since I last set pen to paper in your name. Eliza says that is good, and I suppose I must believe her. Yet now I must confide, for I know if you were here, you would understand.

As strongly as I feel about doing what is right, there are times I damnably regret getting involved in this sordid game of politics. Jefferson has returned from France and joined forces with Madison to thwart my every attempt at moving this country forward.

And Washington is not help. He simply insists that I make the two of them listen, as if it is that simple.

I miss you, John. Even just having you to talk to would ease my frustration greatly. Eliza is not interested in politics, and anyone else I might bare my troubles to is too far away to be in any way a reliable outlet.

I despise everything.

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My beloved Laurens,

I must write you, else I feel I shall go mad with loneliness.

Eliza, Angelica, and Phillip have gone to stay with Schuyler for the summer while I remain in the city to work.

I regret, from time to time, not going with them. It is hot, my house and bed are empty, and I am lonely.

But my responsibilities to my country must come first.

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My beloved Laurens,

There is no going back now. I have made mistakes, and I have done what I must to correct them. The Reynolds Pamphlet has been published.

When Eliza confronted me, there was more hurt and disbelief than anger at first. I didn’t expect that. When the anger did take over, many words were exchanged between us, barbed words, meant to hurt, from both sides.

However, I would call my wife the winner of the battle. Before she left the house, she asked coldly, “Would you have done this to John Laurens?”

I would like to say I wouldn’t, but such things can never be known. The situation was not the same, is not, will never be.

I loved you. I love her.

I love you both, still.

How could I have done this?

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My son is dead. How much heartbreak can one man be made to suffer in a lifetime?

* * *

My dearest Laurens,

It has been weeks since I have had the strength to write, but I finally see a small spark in the dark night of my life.

It seems that Eliza and I are slowly working our way back to each other. Despite what has happened, we are at least making the attempt, the two us of. We find comfort in one another’s company, if only on silent walks.

I think you would be happy for us.

Yours,  
A. Ham

* * *

My dearest Laurens,

It seems strangely fitting that I should duel Aaron Burr, as if this has somehow been fate from the beginning. Our distinguished Vice President insists that I have impugned his honor and will take no other answer but the dueling ground.

I write you the morning before the event, having just finished setting down a somewhat similar letter to my dear Eliza. Should I not return, she will find it and know what has occurred.

I am reminded of so many years ago when we were young and you challenged Charles Lee on my behalf. I didn’t show it then, but I have no secrets now: I was terrified of what would happen if you lost. I could not lose you, I believed; I would not be able to go on.

In the end, I did lose you, and I did go on. And now…now I put my own life on the line, and I feel that should I not return to this house after, I will still be satisfied. I have lived a good life, I have accomplished much, my family is secure, and surely guilt and blood-stained hands, at least, would eat away some of Burr’s victory.

The sun is beginning to rise, and I must put down my pen and meet my appointment with fate. I may be with you again very shortly, my dear friend. Else, I will write again soon.

Yours,  
A. Ham


End file.
